It had been countless months since the fall of Mick’s tribe and his capture by the prince of the kingdom. Since his imprisonment. Since the degradation and humiliation began.
The seething fury had not faded, or so he insisted to himself - he was still enraged at how he had been treated, at how disgraced he was for having allowed himself to be captured rather than killed in battle like his brothers-in-arm. Though as time passed, and the prince continued to play whatever odd game of charm and coaxing he was playing, Mick only grew angrier.
. At the prince, of course. Not at the fact that he found himself letting his gaze linger on the other’s form, not at the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of the other.
It was as though everything had been torn away from him. All he had to look forward to was torture... and the unpredictability of what the prince might do or say. That was the only reason the prince was always on his mind, of course. The fact that he was the only break in an endless trudge of monotony-filled moments spent wasting away in prison cells. At least when the prince decided to torture him, it meant getting to move, getting to leave the cell, even if on a leash or locked away in chains.
Even so, he let the anger burn on, although it became more bitter and irritably confused than outrage at one point, something he refused to admit.
It was the sound of the cage door opening that startled him out of his reverie, and he remained hunched in the corner, eyes the only bright spot in the shadows of his cell, desperately seeking out the face he had been waiting to see.
Disgusting and pathetic. You disgrace.
There. Mick’s heartbeat noticeably picked up speed. He watched silently, waiting in earnest silence to see what the prince would say.